Author's Note: Apologies for the delay. I'm still working on all my projects, just slowly. I hope that everyone enjoys the update. I shall try to get new updates up in a more timely fashion. I will also be putting this up on AO3 as soon as I have a chance. Thanks to all who are still reading and interested! It is appreciated.

Part Five: Divided

Run.

It's the only thing in Grantaire's mind for the first few seconds of the fight, because he is on a strange pack's territory and they are coming for him and if they catch him they will kill him.

They will kill him, and because he is a stray, because he is a wanderer, no one will care. No one will mourn him. No one will avenge him. His killers will be in the right.

Except he isn't a stray anymore. The knowledge pulls him up sharply, his connection to Courfeyrac suddenly blazing bright as the more dominant wolf prepares to face their attackers, to fight.

He isn't a stray, and these wolves, if they have done what he thinks they have done, deserve nothing but disdain.

To use silver against another wolf… the thought is so anathemous that there isn't even a law against it. Snarling, placing his back to the nearest wall, collecting his limbs as close to himself as he can to present less of a target for those in furred form, Grantaire faces down Bellamy's pack.

His disdain and determination do nothing to help his situation, though, or to aid Courfeyrac and Marius.

Perhaps if he hadn't bolted first he would be able to do more. Perhaps he could have put his back to Courfeyrac's and they would have stood a better chance.

Perhaps, but not likely. This attack was planned, their targets pre-selected, and it takes Bellamy's pack less than two minutes from the start of their offensive until Courfeyrac is limp on the ground.

Grantaire, beset by one furred and one human-form wolf himself, can only snarl his rage and ease his gamma's pain as best he can, all the while trying to keep his own defense from falling.

Not that it matters much. Perhaps he should have kept running. Perhaps he should have tried to get to Enjolras, to warn him of what's been done, to explain why they trespassed.

Studying Courfeyrac's bloody, unconscious face, watching Marius' hands continue to scrabble weakly at the collar around his neck, Grantaire knows that he couldn't have abandoned the others, not like this.

Bellamy stalks forward once Courfeyrac is still, grabs the female by the hair, and hauls his body up as though it weighed nothing. His eyes fix Grantaire, fierce, hard, and Grantaire can feel the alpha's power sweep over him—though like with all alphas but Enjolras, Grantaire finds his body completely unmoved by the power.

Raising his head from its tight tuck, Grantaire meets the alpha's eyes. "He will not allow this."

Bellamy's lips pull back from his teeth in a snarling parody of a human smile. "You are the ones who disobeyed Pack law. Enjolras says he is not a threat to our society or our laws, that he can work with other alphas. We shall see."

"You tricked us." Grantaire glances between Marius and the wolves currently circling him.

"You chose your own course. We'll see what his is." Bellamy shrugs, releasing Courfeyrac's hair and allowing the female's body to slump back to the ground. "Now, will you surrender, or shall we have a bit more sport?"

One of Bellamy's wolves steps forward, teeth bared.

"If you surrender…" Bellamy pauses, looking between his wolves and the two prisoners he already has. "Surrender, end this quickly, and I'll guarantee your survival, unmaimed, for the next forty-eight hours."

It's a trick. Grantaire is certain of that, though he isn't sure exactly what part of the statement Bellamy will twist to his advantage.

Still, it's the best option Grantaire has, a way that will allow him to stay close to Courfeyrac and Marius and, hopefully, help them.

Especially Marius. Enjolras may be able to fight for Grantaire and Courfeyrac's return, but Marius is a true stray, a member of no pack, and he would be the easiest, most obvious sacrifice for Enjolras to make.

Straightening slowly, holding his hands out to the side, Grantaire allows Bellamy's people to take hold of him.

They bind Grantaire's hands tightly behind his back as soon as he's surrendered, the knots quick and efficient, the rope too strong for him to easily break. Bellamy kneels by Marius' side, gingerly pulling on dark brown, slim leather gloves. His fingers tease at the collar, loosening it, though he doesn't pull it off entirely.

For a moment Marius continues to paw at his bloody throat and the band around it. Then his movements slow, become more hesitant, his arms coming to rest around his head in a gesture of protection. His eyelids droop, and he goes still, not quite conscious, not quite unconscious.

Bellamy sighs. Turning from Marius, he fetches a small wooden case from a storefront, removes something from it, and heads toward Grantaire.

Any relief that Grantaire felt at the lessening of Marius' pain fades as Bellamy approaches him, another collar in hand, expression closed.

There's nowhere to run—no way to run. The two human-form wolves in Bellamy's pack are holding his arms.

Closing his eyes, praying for the Lady to give him strength, Grantaire braces for pain.

XXX

Pain, surprise, and regret strike him hard, one atop the other, a sudden, sharp transmission across the pack-bonds, and Enjolras finds himself rising from his seat, responding to a threat that isn't present.

He's glad that he rose, though, because it's the only way he's able to grab Combeferre, holding tightly to his beta's arm and preventing him from dashing to the door.

Combeferre's eyes are wide, his pupils dilated, his breath harsh and ragged in his throat, sharp lines of fear and something approaching panic around his eyes. It's the most shaken Enjolras has seen him since they left their birth-pack, and it's confirmation he doesn't need of the identity of their injured pack-member.

"What…" Two of their four human allies have also risen, looking around nervously, gathering together with the two still-seated humans at the center of a tight protective cluster without even seeming to realize what they're doing.

A low whine works its way from Combeferre's mouth, hopefully too soft for the humans to hear, and Enjolras tightens his grip on his beta. Please. Not here. Not in front of them.

"We… have to… go." Combeferre's words are a low, husky rasp between his panting breaths. "Now."

"No." Enjolras turns from his beta to their guests, all of whom have abandoned any pretext of reading each other's pamphlets or studying the maps laid out on the table. Hypothetical future battles apparently hold no interest when there are two alpha-strong wolves holding onto their tempers and sanity by a thread, and Enjolras wonders exactly how much of the power currently swirling through the room the humans can sense. "But you should all leave. That whistle that you heard was a warning. We'll send word when it's safe to—" Pain explodes through his hand, and he loses his grip on Combeferre, sensation waning in his fingers and then returning abruptly as his pack-bond to Courfeyrac goes utterly silent. "Meet again."

The humans swiftly gather anything incriminating and leave, muttering amongst themselves about how strange this entire scenario is, and that is something the pack will have to deal with. That is something that will cause problems for them in the future, that will set back their work amongst the humans.

They can deal with that later, though.

First, he needs to know what's going on, why one of his people has been seriously injured.

His bond to Courfeyrac is silent, utterly empty, but it is still present. "He's alive. Hold to that, Combeferre, and don't charge in until we know more about what's going on."

My mate your gamma our friend pack-mate hurt go now help him help him help—

His bond with Combeferre goes silent, as well, the tense silence of brittle restraint, and Enjolras is able to draw a full breath again.

"Whatever hurt him." Combeferre sits, stiffly, his hands resting very gently on his knees. "Had best pray it's far removed from the vicinity when we reach him."

Closing his eyes, Enjolras forces his thoughts away from both Combeferre and Courfeyrac, running through the rest of his pack-bonds in rapid succession.

Bahorel is just about to tumble through the door, eager for a fight and just as confused as Combeferre and Enjolras; Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta are a tangled knot of concern and overlapping emotion as they abandon a meal, requesting information and directions; Jehan is already on his way to the café, sprinting; Feuilly is ready to return to either the Musain or their den if needed, his work abandoned for the day, and Monet is with Feuilly, safe and accounted for.

Leaving only one, and Enjolras touches that bond with trepidation, not certain what he will find on the other end.

There is almost nothing on the other end of the bond, though, and Enjolras frowns in surprise. Even when Grantaire is drunk, that is something he can feel, a looping, unbalanced, nauseating morass of strange sensations and disconnected thoughts that are there even if they don't make sense and are difficult to grasp and interpret.

Grantaire is conscious. Enjolras' felt no spikes of pain from the submissive wolf, nothing that would lead him to think Grantaire isn't capable of responding to him, so why…

"Grantaire was the one who called Courfeyrac away." Enjolras finds himself rubbing at his right wrist, though there is no pain there now. "Courfeyrac and Grantaire left together, I believe."

"Yes, but went together where? What happened?" Combeferre's words are clipped, but his breathing has returned to normal, and Enjolras draws some comfort from that. When he reaches to touch his pack-bond with his beta, though, he finds it still closed, held tightly under rein.

Pacing gives his feet something to do, keeps him from feeling quite so helpless, and Enjolras traces the confines of their back room as he touches his pack-bonds again. Bahorel has just barged into the room, green eyes darting between Combeferre and Enjolras, silently awaiting orders; Jehan is also close, so he tells the submissive to come. Everyone else he urges to stay where they are, at least until he has more information.

He needs to find where Courfeyrac went.

He needs to figure out why he can't reach Grantaire as he should.

He needs to be certain he isn't going to be leading the rest of his pack into a trap.

Grabbing his coat and slinging it on, Enjolras nods to Bahorel, acknowledging his presence and silently thanking him. Touching Combeferre's arm, his voice quiet, Enjolras nods toward the door. "Jehan will meet us on the way. Let's try to find Courfeyrac."

An arrow released from a string, Combeferre stands and darts out the door, head low as he begins tracking his mate.

XXX

"You're—" Grantaire hisses as speaking causes the metal spikes embedded on the inside of the collar to score his neck more deeply, a terrible, burning pain like nothing else he's ever felt.

At least it's better now than it had been. When Bellamy had first put the collar on, he'd tightened it so that the spikes all dug small holes in Grantaire's neck, and the pain and disorientation had been overwhelming. Once all the prisoners had been transported to this empty building and tied up, though, Bellamy had donned his gloves again and loosened the collar so it isn't quite so awful.

Which doesn't change any of Grantaire's accusations. "You are… a liar and a bastard and—" Again the spikes score his flesh, and he can feel blood trickle down his collar, a white-hot trail of agony that causes him to go silent.

"I am an alpha. I am protecting my pack." Bellamy looks almost apologetic as he removes the thin leather gloves that had protected his hands from the silver. Taking a step back, he studies Grantaire. "You won't be able to Change without embedding the spikes in your skin. I wouldn't recommend trying it—silver's been known to stop wolves mid-Change, and even if you managed to complete the Change, dying of silver poisoning is a bad way to go."

Grantaire doesn't speak or move. The less he moves, the less he talks, the less pain the silver-studded collar causes him, though it is always there, an agonizing ring of fire around his neck that his entire being rejects.

That his magic rejects, that causes his pack-bonds to slip and slide beyond his control, and he understands, abruptly, why Bellamy is doing this to him. "You don't want him to know what you've done."

"He will know that you trespassed. That's all I need him and the other alphas to know right now." Bellamy turns away from Grantaire.

They didn't go far from the battleground, which wasn't far from the pack boundary. Grantaire tries to cheer himself with that thought as he flexes his wrists, testing the bonds that tie him hand and foot to a stout wooden chair. His arms are bound behind his back, another deterrent to any attempted Change; his legs, at least, they've left relatively unscathed, simply removing his shoes and tying his ankles to the chair legs.

He hopes they haven't taken his shoes far. They're not the nicest shoes, but they've served Grantaire for the last few years, traveled far and hard with him, and the thought of these wolves making off with them would normally bring a snarl to his face.

There are plenty of other, more important things to make him snarl right now, though. Courfeyrac is still unconscious, the female's face a mass of bruising and blood, and though Grantaire knows their kind heal quickly and well it's still a frightening thing to see. They've bound Courfeyrac in the same way that they have Grantaire, heedless to his injured wrist or the way his entire lower arm is starting to swell. Gritting his teeth causes the spikes to scratch his neck again, and it takes all of Grantaire's willpower not to simply start howling and refuse to stop until someone takes the damn torture device off him.

That wouldn't help Courfeyrac, though. It wouldn't help Marius, who is currently slumped over in his own chair. Blood is pooling slowly under Marius' left foot, a steady drip from a deep and ragged bite wound to Marius' calf, and he seems only half-conscious still, coherency and, perhaps, sanity stripped away by Lady knows how long in the silver collar.

At least Bellamy has taken the collar off Marius, hanging the terrible thing from a hook on the wall as though it were a hat or a jacket or some other article of fashion. The silver spikes that line the inside of the collar glisten red and black with dried blood.

They're all alive, though. None of their injuries look life-threatening, though they could be crippling if left untreated, if they're kept away from the pack. Perhaps when Marius has recovered enough he'll be able to help—

With a sigh and a shake of his hands, as though wiping off something distasteful, Bellamy slips back into the leather gloves. Gingerly removing the bloody collar from its hook on the wall, he moves from where Marius' chair is on Grantaire's left side to Courfeyrac's on Grantaire's right. The female alpha's mouth twists into a frustrated frown as he hunkers down at Courfeyrac's side. "Such a pity. You would have made a glorious alpha of your own."

"You're not—" Grantaire swallows a cry of pain, struggling against his bonds, heedless to the increased burning in his neck. "He's hurt, you can't do that to him, you'll—"

And then it's done, the collar snapped into place, and Courfeyrac whines, though his eyes don't open, a soft, lost sound like a dying pup would make.

"You filthy, faithless, traitorous monster." Grantaire spits the words, each one another thread of agony, more trickles of blood sliding white-hot down his chest and back. "You call him a monster, all of you, you call him such awful things, and he would never do something like this, he would never—"

Bellamy doesn't strike him. He doesn't even look angry. He simply strides over, presses one gloved hand to the collar, and Grantaire's world dissolves into a whirling storm of white-hot fire.

He can't speak.

He can't think.

He can't feel anything but pain.

There is pain, at his neck, agony such as he's never known, and he has to get away from it, he has to get it away, but his hands won't move to it, for some reason, his body won't move away from it, and he needs… he needs…

The pain fades slowly, and Grantaire blinks hazily up at Bellamy. Grantaire's head is hanging low on his neck, a parody of submission, but he honestly doesn't know if he has the strength to raise it again.

"Enjolras." Bellamy speaks the name slowly, voice dispassionate. "He has not done anything like this, no. But he accepts human-born vermin into his pack rather than killing them. He accepts deviants who don't know how to properly mate-bond. He accepts half-breeds. He accepts ones such as you. And he demands that we do the same. He demands that we accept his plans of working with and living with the humans. He demands that we dismantle all that we are in the hopes that we will be given scraps from the humans' table. I would rather he be a rabid beast. It would be easier to convince others to help me do what must be done that way. As it is… the stray has trespassed. You have trespassed. Enjolras is responsible for all three of you, and all three of you now owe me blood recompense. Do you think he will let me take it?"

Grantaire glares up at the alpha, trying not to breath too hard, trying not to jostle the collar around his neck.

"I think…" Once more stripping out of the leather gloves, Bellamy sets them carefully on a table on the opposite side of the empty room from where Grantaire, Marius, and Courfeyrac are being kept, next to the lantern that provides illumination where the boarded-up and blanket-covered windows do not. This room was not designed to be a prison, but it has been carefully converted into one, the front door thoroughly boarded over, the rear door that they had entered from locked from the outside. "Enjolras will show his true colors now. He will demand your return. When I refuse him, he will break Pack law. And that, in combination with your flagrant disregard for proper Pack boundaries, will be all the reason the other alphas need to aid me in putting him down."

"No." The negation sounds too weak, too helpless, but there is nothing else that Grantaire can think to say. "It won't happen like that."

Bellamy shrugs. "We shall see. Yves."

The beta appears at his alpha's side. For one heart-rending moment Grantaire can see Monet in his mother's face, something in the sharp jut of the chin, the fierce high cheekbones, and he misses his pack, so sharply it hurts.

"Guard them. Use the collars if you must. Try not to kill them yet." Bellamy turns away. "I need them alive as leverage for at least a little bit longer."

Bellamy leaves, and Yves settles down on the ground near the table, his eyes slowly scanning the row of prisoners.

"Monet would be disappointed." Grantaire speaks with more calm than he feels. "To see his parents involved in something like this."

Yves meets his eyes, and the female's are hard, flat, cold, as cold as they had been when he broke Courfeyrac's wrist. "My daughter is dead. He died the day he followed a human-born rather than standing with his pack."

There will be no help from Yves.

There will be no help from anyone in Bellamy's pack.

Closing his eyes, Grantaire grabs helplessly, hopelessly at his magic, trying to reach his pack-bonds despite the slow, terrible burn of the silver around his neck.

When there is no help, when there is no pack, one had to survive on one's own.

First he needs to warn Enjolras.

And then he needs to find a way out of this.

XXX

His missing wolves aren't in the pack's territory anymore.

Enjolras had been steadily more suspicious as they followed Courfeyrac and Grantaire's trail, but there is no denying it now, no hoping that there has merely been some altercation at the border that they can sort out at the next alpha conclave.

Courfeyrac and Grantaire are in Bellamy's territory.

Courfeyrac and Grantaire crossed into Bellamy's territory on their own, and there are no other wolf-scents at the border, nothing to indicate that they were chased or driven there.

Combeferre's hands are clenched into fists at his side. His breathing is slow and regular, but Enjolras knows better than to trust that. The tight control that Combeferre has over their pack-bond, the tension in his fingers, the way his eyes stare without blinking into Bellamy's territory, all of those give away the terrible distress his beta is feeling.

"Give the word." Bahorel stands at Enjolras' left hand, Combeferre at his right. "We'll go, if that's what you want."

It's what he wants. Oh, it's what he wants, what he desperately yearns to do, to charge ahead and find his people and allow Combeferre and Joly to help guide his power as they fix whatever harm has befallen them and drag everyone back to their den and keep them safe there. If he does that, though, he is violating Pack law, breaking his word to all of the other alphas who have been grudgingly sharing the city with him and his ideas, undoing three years worth of careful and meticulous work.

"You don't even have to order us to go." Jehan touches his elbow, a brief, hesitant contact. "Just don't stop us. A small group could—"

"No."

He and Combeferre speak in concert, and Jehan jumps back, head dropping low.

No, that's not what he wants to have happen, that's not how this should go, he shouldn't be frightening his pack, he—

"No." Combeferre turns away, finally, from that unknown point where Courfeyrac and Grantaire are. One hand settles gently on Enjolras' shoulder; his other reaches back for Jehan, and the lower-ranked wolf hesitantly takes it. "Any incursion into Bellamy's territory will be seen as aggression from the whole pack. If it's something we decide to do, we might as well all go."

"And if we do go…" Bahorel's smile is grim. "It's going to be open war, isn't it? Bellamy's never been on our side. He'll fight tooth and nail, and some of the other alphas would gladly side with him."

"It would probably be the closest thing to civil war that our people have ever seen." Enjolras lowers his head, closing his eyes, picturing what will happen if it comes to that. He could take any individual wolf, he has no doubt of that. If he were to find and fight the other alphas, truly fight them, he could perhaps take every wolf in Paris, unite them into one enormous pack, with him as their dictator.

The thought makes him sick, physically nauseous, memories of his one and only alpha battle rising unbidden to swamp his thoughts.

He does not want to rule by fear.

He does not want to impose loyalty.

But he cannot do nothing while his wolves are hurt and in danger.

"Information first." Combeferre's fingers tighten on his shoulder, Combeferre's thoughts opening to show him a mirror of his own terrible anger and frustration and fear, all barely tempered by caution. "This was no simple accident. Something's going on here, and we need to know what before we act, no matter how desperately we want to simply charge in."

Turning away from the trail is the hardest thing he has ever done, but Enjolras does it, his pack-mates at his side.

He needs a pen, paper, and a human messenger. Let Bellamy meet him here, explain what's happening. For Courfeyrac to cross into another alpha's land… there must have been good cause.

Enjolras doesn't allow himself to consider what he'll do if Bellamy simply refuses to respond to his message.

While he would usually insist on planning for worst-case scenarios, even his self control has limits.

XXX

Marius hurts.

Hurts is the word that echoes through his mind, though it isn't an accurate word, doesn't contain a fraction of the burning, overwhelming agony which swamps his whole body with each beat of his heart, but it's the only word that his reeling mind can cling to.

He hurts. His human half names the sensation with that word while his wolf half simply whimpers, driven half-mad by… by…

What is it? What's the thing that caused the agony, that drove away conscious consideration and left only this terrible, helpless, endless pain?

He doesn't remember.

He can't think.

He has to think.

He has to pull his thoughts together and assess where he is, what's been done to him, what he needs to do to escape.

He needs to go somewhere. He's supposed to be somewhere, with someone, though he doesn't remember—

"Marius."

That's his name, said quietly, gruffly, but by a voice that doesn't cause him to flinch back. Does he know that voice? He thinks he does, maybe. It isn't a pack-mate, though. He doesn't have a pack. He is alone, a stray, a wanderer, an exile, and he has no pack, but there is a human word that might work, if he can find it, a human concept that is like pack but not quite and—

"Marius, are you awake?"

He doesn't know. Perhaps? Probably. All things considered, he hurts too much to really be sleeping.

"Marius, if you're—"

"He didn't tell you that you could speak."

That voice frightens him, belongs to someone he doesn't like, is the human version of a voice that howled to give away his position, marked him as prey, crippled him, and Marius jerks his head up.

He can't see anything, still, only darkness, and it takes him a few seconds longer to realize that his eyes are still closed.

"He didn't say that we couldn't speak, either." The anger fades from the first voice—not Courfeyrac, but another, someone else who could perhaps be called friend. What replaces it is submission, a soft, pleading note underlying each word. "I just want to know if he's all right. I've got a bit of a vested interest in knowing what these collars are going to do to us. If he's not recovering by now—"

"Don't talk." It's Bellamy's beta who's speaking, and Marius shivers again as he remembers the look in the female's eyes as his teeth ripped through Marius' calf. "I think that's the best thing for all of us."

His eye finally open, the effort needed monstrous, but at first it doesn't matter. At first there's only a skittering, dim illumination that dances before his eyes, uncontrolled fire, and he allows his eyelids to drop closed again.

After a handful of blinks that take far more effort than he thinks they should, he finds himself making out forms, though. Two wolves are tied to chairs to his right, and a few deep breaths confirm that it is Courfeyrac and Grantaire. Grantaire is the closest, and the one who had spoken; Courfeyrac's head hangs limply from his neck, but Marius can hear the gentle sush of the female's breathing.

It's the wolf standing across the room, though, the female studying him with eyes that are nothing more than black pits in the irregular lantern light, who arrests his attention.

The female's eyes pierce him, rake up and down his body, and then turn back to Grantaire. "He's awake. He looks coherent. If you don't annoy Bellamy, you'll likely be no worse off by the end of this."

"You're intending to kill my alpha." Grantaire's voice is incredulous. "You're planning to destroy my pack. Can you think of anything worse to do to a wolf like me?"

The female's shoulders rise and fall in a shrug. "There are always worse things that can be done, provided we're still alive. Now, no more talking."

"Whatever caused you to trespass…" Grantaire's words are a low, hoarse whisper. "I hope it was worth it, Marius."

Cosette.

He remembers, in an abrupt, painful eruption of emotion, what the prelude to his capture had been. He was supposed to meet Cosette. He's certainly missed church by now, and heaven knows what Cosette and her father will think of him. He—

He almost doesn't see the female wolf move. Swift and silent, he crosses the room, presses something up again Grantaire's neck, and the scent of pain and sickness is suddenly thick in the room.

Grantaire makes no sound, though, and after a handful of seconds Bellamy's wolf retreats back to his post by the lantern.

Grantaire's breathing slowly returns to normal, the sickly-sweet smell fading away, though it doesn't fade entirely. Isn't entirely Grantaire's, Marius realizes, and he cranes his head as much as his bonds will allow in order to confirm that both Courfeyrac and Grantaire have black bands encircling their necks.

Shivering involuntarily, Marius huddles in his chair, mind racing but finding no easy solution to his dilemma.

He needs to escape.

He needs to get back to Cosette.

He needs to save Courfeyrac and Grantaire.

The only thought that brings comfort as well as pain is that of Cosette, and he allows his thoughts to linger there, his eyes to drift closed, despair hovering close behind the lingering haze of silver.

XXX

Marius is hurt.

Cosette doesn't know where the knowledge comes from. It is just suddenly there, filling her thoughts, demanding action.

Marius is hurt, and he doesn't know what to do.

Springing up from the couch that her father had insisted she lie down on following church, Cosette begins pacing the confines of their library, the book she had been reading held tightly to her chest.

Today has gone nothing like it should have. First there was the sudden burst of agony in her leg before church, a sensation that she had also instinctively associated with Marius. She still doesn't know where it came from, why it was so intense and then gone as abruptly as it had started.

Then there was Marius' absence, which has frightened her just as much as the pain had. Marius had sworn that he would come, and the only reason she could imagine him failing to appear, especially when her father was expecting him, is if something prevented him from coming.

Just as something is preventing him from coming to her now, she's certain of it, though he would like nothing more.

Which means that she will have to go to him.

It won't be easy. She doesn't know where he stays when he isn't sleeping in her garden, though he's told her vague details about his room. She knows some of the roads he takes to church, though, because she spent hours going over the exact location of the building and the surrounding roads with him in long study sessions that had confused her greatly.

Perhaps she'll find some trace of Marius or of what happened to him on the road.

Perhaps this strange feeling will guide her, the tenuous connection she feels with him hopefully growing stronger as she gets closer to him.

Or perhaps a miracle will happen and an angel will descend to guide her.

She can think of nothing else to do, though, and taking no action, waiting while Marius suffers somewhere, is inconceivable.

The only problem is going to be convincing her father to come with her, because anything that could take down a werewolf—even a sweet, stick-chasing werewolf like Marius—is not something that Cosette wants to face alone.

XXX

They're bad news.

Gavroche is familiar with bad news. He's considered bad news by many, and he associates with those who are considered worse news, sometimes happily and sometimes because it beats starving.

Bellamy and his people are something else entirely, though, something that doesn't fit into the usual classes of people Gavroche meets or watches.

Bellamy and his gang are important in this part of town. Gavroche has known that for a while. Everyone who spends a lot of time in the area seems to know Bellamy and those who belong to him, but Bellamy's people are… accepted, expected, respected in a way that Gavroche has never quite understood. The gamin who run messages for Bellamy and his crew on occasion like the strange men because they pay decently if the job's done quickly and well, something that Gavroche has used to his own advantage in the past.

What Gavroche doesn't understand is why the more respectable people also listen to Bellamy. There seems to be some kind of aura around the man—and around his second-in-command—that engenders respect and decency in those who would normally either scoff at someone as poorly-dressed as Bellamy or flinch away from the wild threat in his eyes.

Because there is something wild and dangerous in Bellamy's eyes, in the eyes of all those he controls, though it's never frightened Gavroche. It's a look he's seen in the eyes of his father when planning a heist, in the eyes of his mother when she's looking to hit him, in the eyes of Montparnasse when he's looking for a spot of trouble, a challenge and a dare that Gavroche learned early on to avoid rather than confront.

He's done the same with Bellamy and his gang, running the odd message for them, playing along those rare times they take an interest in him, but otherwise leaving them alone, never looking them in the eye too long, never acting threatening, and it's worked out well.

They used him today, though. They had him take a message to a man who paid three times what a normal person would—what Bellamy would—and he had unknowingly led the man into a trap.

Never mind that the man fought like a tiger, the same wild madness in his eyes that shone from Bellamy's, Gavroche had led him into a trap, and Bellamy had dragged him away.

Dragged him and two others away, after a fight that involved dogs more vicious and well-trained than any others Gavroche has ever seen, and it doesn't make any sense.

Why didn't anyone else interfere? He'd seen a handful of people approach Bellamy, his crew and their prisoners, but they'd all left within seconds of speaking with Bellamy, a strange, bemused smile on their faces.

Why didn't the prisoners call for help?

Why did Bellamy put collars on his prisoners, as though they were dogs?

Gavroche shouldn't get involved. It isn't his business.

But he led them into a trap.

There's a mystery here, one that's intrigued Gavroche off and on for the last few years, and he's got a personal stake in it now.

Gavroche peers down from his secluded spot on a roof overlooking the decrepit building where Bellamy has stashed his prisoners.

He's not going to just leave it alone. He knows himself well enough to know that if he was going to leave he would have done so by now.

Which means he has to decide between trying to get in to see what Bellamy's doing with his prisoners or heading back to where he had met up with Courfeyrac and his friends.

There's only one of Bellamy's people in the room with the prisoners. Hunkering down a bit more, wrapping his arms around himself to help fend off the lingering chill, Gavroche studies the building, memorizing all of it that he can.

If Bellamy's man leaves, he'll try to get in and talk to the prisoners.

If Bellamy's man stays, Gavroche will go find some more of Courfeyrac's people and try to get some answers out of them in return for information on where their missing companions are.